Freaks, all of us
by Shakespeare Diva
Summary: Xavier's niece is taken by the brotherhood. with the help of Mortimer, she strugles to find her place in this world before she's taken out of it.
1. the normalcy factor

A/N: Here's my first attempt at an X-men fic, so please be gentle. Not too gentle, I mean, if something's crap, please tell me, but no undue flames, por favor. And, with that.. Away we go. Oh, and of course, I own nothing.  
  
  
  
The morning light slanted through the pale yellow curtains bathing the room in a buttery wash. Anne stirred, the crisp, freshly washed cotton sheets rustling like leaves in an autumn wind. She slowly opened her eyes, the small, homey room coming into focus as the post-sleep blur began to wear off. She groaned and pulled the patchwork quilt up over head, pulling her legs into her chest and snuggling into her pillows. She sighed in the warmth of the quilted cocoon, smiling to herself as she wiggled her toes inside her socks. Bright pink. That was the color on her toes right now, but no one would know that, not through the socks. No one save Uncle Charles. But then again, he knew everything, so hiding a little bit of toe nail polish wasn't an issue for Anne. It was hiding it from everyone else that made her smile. Her: perfect, quiet Anne. So much like her Uncle that bright pink toe nail polish would've made them squirm, made them realize what she was. Normal. The familiar old pain hit her heart as the word entered her thoughts. Normal, ordinary, plain. She hated those words, hated what they meant, and hated more than anything else how much they applied to her. Because the truth was the only thing different about her were her bright pink toes. No gifts, powers or abilities had bestowed themselves on her at childhood. Born to mutant parents and taken in by her mutant Uncle to live with mutants her own age, she faced every day with the knowledge that she was a freak. At least in their world she was. In her own, she was barely noticeable.  
  
She rolled over and let her arm loll out of the quilt, the almost frigid air conditioning hitting her wrist like an icicle. She'd often wondered why the mansion was always so cold. No one else seemed to notice or to mind. Perhaps the mutant's body temperatures were different than hers. It was definitely a possibility.  
  
She sat up, gathering the quilt around her like a coat, and sleepily looked around the room, her face grimacing with the early morning. Her eyes squinted at the sunlight streaming through the curtains, those horrid yellow curtains the color of cheesy grits. Shed hated those curtains her whole life. Her mother had loved yellow, thought it was soothing. That was why she put them up in Anne's room. But Anne hated the color. Especially on those curtains. The only reason she had brought them when she moved in with Uncle Charles was because they were her mother's favorite things in the world, besides her family and peanut butter bagels. Those curtains were all she had left of her mother.  
  
Anne yawned and slid off the bed, dragging the quilt behind her as her socked feet padded across the thick grey carpeting. She opened the large oak door to her room and shuffled into the hall, the quilt still following her like a puppy. Door after door went past as she made her way down the hall, the over head lamps sending a gentle glow downward every few feet.  
  
No one else was up. No one else was usually up this early on Saturdays, but somewhere in the back of her mind Anne would wait to hear Scott walking behind her, or excited whispers coming from the girl's room. Oh, how she desperately wanted to go in there, to join Rouge and Kitty and Jubilee in their talks on the boys, classes, and bright pink toe nail polish. But she never dared step into their room, or anyone's room for that matter. It was off limits to her, their world was. So, she plodded by their closed doors, keeping her mind closed to any life inside, not wanting to remind herself of what she was missing.  
  
Then came the noise.  
  
She heard it as she neared the stairs, a clinking sound coming from the kitchen. She stopped and peered over the railing that over looked the main hall. Nothing. The checkerboard tiling glistened in the sunlight that slanted through the living room's Venetian blinds. The ferns in their large clay pots didn't rustle in the aftermath of an intruder's movements, and the clanking seemed to have disappeared. Anne shrugged. It was probably her imagination. She carefully thudded down the stairs in her quilted cloak like a queen entering a grand ballroom. Engrossed in her fantasy, she waved to imaginary dignitaries as they applauded her regal beauty and exquisite fashion sense. Then, she spotted him, right across from the stair case, the noble and much sought after prince. He smiled at her, and she smiled back in a cool manner. She lowered her head and batted her eyelashes at the dashing young man, who in turn stared at her with love and fascination. That is, until her socked foot hit the tiled floor and she slipped, falling back onto the stairs, her quilt falling all around her, and her imaginary prince disappeared.  
  
She groaned and swatted the covers that surrounded her, until she heard the laughter. That low, rolling sound that she'd heard so many times before. She peaked out of the covers to see a pair of shiny black shoes and sleek silver wheels.  
  
"Did the prince trip you up again, Annabelle?"  
  
Anne sighed in embarrassed resignation. "Good morning Uncle Charles." She sat up and started pulling the quilt around her again, as the older man smiled down at her fondly.  
  
"Good morning. Sleep well?"  
  
"Of course I did." She mewed as she stood up and followed him as he began wheeling down the hall. "Who's in the kitchen?" she asked innocently, hoping her small fright earlier had some grounds.  
  
"Logan, I believe. He's making breakfast. Would you care to join us?"  
  
Anne thought of Logan, the Wolverine, and his cigars that were always smoking with the sweetest smell, his prickly face, thick with stubble and sweat.  
  
"No, that's alright. I'm not hungry just yet." She smiled weakly, knowing he could see her misgivings. Charles merely nodded and smiled gently at his young niece.  
  
"I think I can here the iris' blooming." He told her with a smile. Anne grinned and leaned over to kiss her uncle's smooth head before rushing out towards the backyard, every once in a while slipping on the slick floor. Charles laughed as he watched the cushioned girl disappear through the French doors.  
  
The minute Anne stepped outside she dropped the quit from her shoulders, feeling much like Dorothy had in Oz. The vividness of the garden was almost blinding coming out of the monochrome and oak covered interior of the mansion. The world outside looked like a Matisse painting, a large water colored canvas where the paints had splished and run into each other, creating new colors. She looked behind her into the mansion, making sure no one else was around, before she let out an enthused yelp and began running through the yard, the dewy grass dampening her socked feet. She ran cartwheels and leapt into summersaults, bits of fallen leaves and grass sticking in her hair and attached to her pajamas. She pulled the socks off of her feet and ran her toes through the cool grass, smiling at the sensation. She lay back and squirmed slowly, letting her arms and legs explore the ground beneath her, totally unaware of anyone else in the world.  
  
Not even the one who was watching her.  
  
She started slightly as a bird shrieked in a nearby tree before taking sudden flight from its branches, shaking the limbs and rustling leaves with tremendous force for such a small creature. Anna sat up, not caring it her clothes were soaked through and covered in grass stains. She eyed the thick tree line that marked the end of the mansion's property. Nothing seemed to stir, no bushes rustled in the slight morning's breeze, no animal's seemed to move or to make any noise whatsoever. It was too quiet.  
  
She reached for her socks, her hand uneasy and shaking as it snaked its way across the grass, her eyes never leaving the all-too-still forest. Her fingers felt around but could find nothing. Her face grew worried as she turned her head, still looking for those blasted socks. And she found them, in someone's hands.  
  
Her eyes widened as she took him in, or what she could. He sat crouched, a few feet from her, the hood of his heavy coat up, hiding his face from view. She could see his smile, though, small yellowed teeth glinting in the few shadows of the garden, the shadows he seemed to stay to. In one of his pale green hands, lay her socks, clutched in his long, thick fingers.  
  
"Looking for something?" he asked. Her eyes flinched in thought for a second. His voice, she thought, it's different. Lighter? No. more clipped. British, she thought, almost proud of herself for her quick deduction. So, the man before her was British, and in possession of her socks. Her mind quickly scanned the information she had and came to the realization that it didn't do her a damn bit of good. Nice job, Anne.  
  
She offered him a small, awkward smile and jutted a hand out for her socks. The man quickly drew back, his legs propelling him with great agility and grace.  
  
"May I have my socks back, please?" she asked, her voice more forced than polite. She wanted to get back inside, back with her Uncle Charles so he could make her a cup of hot chocolate and relieve her mind of socks and strangers.  
  
The figure's smile widened and his clutch on her socks tightened. "I think I'll keep them for a little bit longer, if you don't mind."  
  
"Yes, I do mind." She snapped, finding her carefree mood from a few minutes before gone and replaced with mounting irritation. She sprang forward to try and grab at the socks or the man or both, but ended up over shooting and fell on her face with a muted thud and less muted yelp. The man in the shadows laughed, a low, rumbling chuckle. The laugh of someone who was pleased with other's pain. Anne didn't like that sound.  
  
She pushed herself up, her wrists slightly skinned from the rush with the grass, and aching. She grunted as she sat up, rubbing her wrists gingerly, her face displaying her discomfort.  
  
"Wish your Uncle X was here to help you, hmn?" the stranger asked. But his voice was closer than it had been in the shadows. She turned her head and found a pair of glimmering yellow eyes with deep green splotches staring down at her. She started and nearly backpedaled away from the eyes, but a strong arm reached forward and caught the arch of her back, keeping her in place. Try as she might, she couldn't see anymore of the face than those almost sickening yellow eyes. Yellow, she thought, why did they have to be yellow?  
  
"Why would Uncle Charles need to help me?" she asked, the stranger's closeness making it impossible for her to look at anything other than those eyes. Damn him.  
  
Then, almost as if he could read her mind, he closed his eyes. He took a breath and sighed, and Anne's face widened as she felt his fingers on her spine. They moved slowly in delicate little circles all along her back. She marveled at how he could keep her stationary and do that at the same time. She felt herself beginning to swoon, to loose focus of the hidden face before her, her entire being getting caught up in the motion of his fingers.  
  
"What are you doing?" she moaned in a whisper as she felt herself falling.  
  
"Just sleep now, little niece. Mortimer will take care of you for now." He whispered into her hair. She felt his other arm slip around her as he pulled her relaxing body up onto his chest. She noticed how the bulge in his arms his right below her ribs, that he smelled like sea water, but not, and that his voice sounded best whispered in her hair before she passed into darkness. 


	2. sailing, ever yonder we

Much thanks to my reviewers, all two of you. You have a special place in my heart. And on that bitter note, here's chapter two.  
  
She was rocking, back and forth, back and forth. All around her smelled like wood, like Grandma's cradle perhaps? Yes, that was it, Grandma's old wooden cradle that rocked her back and forth when she was small. And there was a sound, a noise of some sort. Music? More like humming, like someone was whistling over the lip of an empty milk bottle. She felt a breeze rush over her face, and heard the slightest sound under the humming, like her yellowed curtains in a rainstorm. Her yellowed curtains, her cradle, the humming, her mother's face coming into view, smiling and gentle, the way Anne always remembered her. Mother was humming now, humming through her smile to put her baby girl to bed. The smile seemed to light up into her eyes, those big yellow eyes. yellow? Her mother didn't have yellow eyes. Yellow eyes with green specs.  
  
A quick flash of light split through the room and her mother's face. Anne bolted upright to see her dream quickly fading into a seascape. Dark black waves rolled all around her, the white foam breaking irregularly on the harsh looking water. She peered over the edge of the boat into the dark water and. boat? Her eyes widened as she realized she was in a boat, a small wooden sailboat to be precise, and was calmly riding over the rough waves to what looked like nowhere. The dark and stormy sky overhead and the pitch colored water beneath her made it impossible to see anything in any direction. She heard a gentle flapping behind her and turned to see a large white sail rigged above her, the giant white canvas dancing in the wild winds. She caught sight of ropes, like long brown snakes, twining away from the mast and leaving the sail to fly away into the surrounding oblivion. She carefully started crawling towards the mast, the sea spray blinding her as she moved. The boat rocked gently, undulating with the rocky seas it rested on, adding to Anne's difficulty in getting to the shedding pole.  
  
A large wave mounted its assault on the small vessel, and Anne caught sight of it just as it smashed into the side of the boat sending bitter salt water flying at her, drenching her already shivering form and all but smashing her against the side. The boat rocked, dangerously veering towards capsizing, but it righted itself again in the tumultuous waves. Anne righted herself as well and resumed her crawl, her limbs aching and cold. She stared up at the mast, her eyes trying to focus on the wildly flying ropes, trying to figure out exactly how she was going to reattach the sail, seeing as she had never even been on a boat before, let alone rigged one.  
  
Another wave rolled the boat to its side, hard enough only to stop Anne's progression and to swing the mast on its loosening axis, revealing a figure clinging to the pole busily working with the ropes. His legs were wrapped around the thick wooden column. Anne could see, even through the spray and the dark, the thick tendons and muscles that strained underneath the drenched pants. His arms, equal in build to his legs, grabbed frantically through the air for the ropes, pulling them into large knots around the rigs. The sail began to calm in the tempest as it got tied down. In absence of the sail masking him, Anne could see his upper torso, his arms working diligently with the ropes while his tongue steadied him.  
  
Anne blinked through the salt water that was obviously clouding her vision. She looked again, and let her jaw go slack, taking in sea water, as she stared in disbelief. His mouth was open as well, a long greenish grey tongue lashed around the mast like another piece of rope. Anne couldn't move. She didn't know whether to be repulsed or intrigued by his prehensile oral attachment, and found herself caught in the middle of both emotions, leaving her in a stunned silence as she watched him work.  
  
His movements were jerky, but they had their grace to them. She remembered how he had moved in the garden that morning. was it that morning? How long had she been out? She hadn't a clue. She didn't know how she'd gotten onto a boat, where she was being taken, or even who was taking her, but all of that seemed of little importance in the wake of watching him.  
  
A few flashes of lightening streaked across the sky, illuminating the tongue-harnessed man for a few seconds at a time. His skin seemed sallow, tinted with green. His hair was dark, the color of seaweed and spinach, and was now plastered around his forehead and neck. His face was sleek with saltwater and concentration, those yellow eyes focused intently on the mast and the newly secured ropes.  
  
He let his tongue unwrap itself from the mast and loll back into his mouth which he then closed. He slid down the mast, unwrapping his legs soon enough to catch him before he fell. He took one last look at his handiwork, making sure the ropes would hold through the squall, before he noticed Anna staring at him. The sky was lightless now and she could barely make out his expression. She could see his eyes though, their now familiar yellow peering at her through the slackening mist.  
  
That was when she realized her mouth was still open. She closed it and swallowed, sending a large rush of pure salt water down her throat. Her eyes widened as she began choking and sputtering, her lungs trying to force as much of the water back up as it could. Her hands clasped at her throat as she felt her legs buckle beneath her, a prickly feeling stabbing at her feet and up her legs as she began loosing oxygen. She coughed, feeling a strange heat swallow her face while the rest of her went numb with cold.  
  
She looked upward, the sky beginning to blacken more and more with each passing second as she began passing from consciousness. She heard the whistling again, the whistle that turned into a warm, familiar hum. She saw her mother's face loom over her, shining brightly in the darkness. Anna smiled, even through the coughing and drooling, reaching up for her mother's face. She was cold to the touch, and wet, but still soft. Softer than she had remembered. Her mother reached down and touched Anne's cheek, quickly running her fingers down the girl's damp cheek. Her mother's face came closer to her own, concern streaking down her skin with the salt water. Her face got closer and closer until her lips hung a moment away from Anne's. Anne looked up at the face curiously, when a large, racking cough shook her back into semi consciousness. Salt water dribbled down her chin and she could feel what seemed like an ocean more waiting still to exhale. She looked back to her mother's face, hoping to find comfort, but instead found the strange man's face where her mother's had been. The same look of concern was on his face, his eyes darting nervously around her face.  
  
His eyes, they weren't yellow anymore, but grey and growing black with every passing second, just as everything else was. She could feel her eyelids flutter as her eyes rolled back into her head, the water pressing in on her lungs quickly. She felt as though she was drowning. Everything she could feel was water, liquid washing over her, over her arms and legs and her mouth. But her mouth was warm and soft and breathing. She felt air, cool and painful, cutting into her throat, pushing against the water. Her eyes drowsed open yet again as she found him hovering over her again, his lips pressed desperately against hers. Panic and confusion hit her for only a moment before her lungs began forcing the water out of her. The stranger backed up as she lurched forward, vomiting overboard in heaving coughs.  
  
She felt as if she were emptying her entire stock of organs over the side of that boat, her head becoming light and dizzy with each purge. She felt something snaking its way through her hair, holding her head as her convulsions calmed. Slowly the hand trailed down her neck and rested on the small of her back, while the other hand gently guided her head away from the sideboard, helping her to lean against the boat.  
  
She closed her eyes and breathed, the biting cold air cutting her scratchy throat. She could feel him looking at her, that look of concern still washed across his features. His sallow, clumsy features. She opened her eyes, tears lining her vision, and stared at him, her face blank and drawn. He stared back at her, not moving, not even breathing from the looks of it. Something in his faced had changed, however. The compassion had melted away, replaced with something else she couldn't tell. Anger, perhaps, or distrust. It burned in his eyes like a sulfur fire, smoldering quietly.  
  
"Are you alright?" he asked quietly, his voice laced with disinterest.  
  
"Yes," she whispered her voice hoarse. "Thank you." He nodded and stood up, starting off for the front of the boat. She called out to him, or at least called out as much as she could. "Wait!" he stopped and threw his gaze over his shoulder, barely looking at her. "I just wanted to. to thank you. For everything." She finished, mentally kicking herself for having spoken at all. She must've sounded like the poster child for every mental illness out there. He didn't seem to notice. He turned to face her, his thick arms crossed over what she realized was a broad chest.  
  
"What everything?" he asked. She couldn't tell if he was genuinely interested in the answer, or merely waiting to prove her as something less than coherent, which at this point wouldn't have been too difficult.  
  
"I realized I'm being kidnapped, and probably on account of my Uncle," she began, "I'm not totally daft." She added, prepping herself for any verbal matches that would follow. "However, I'm well aware that you didn't have to knock me out so. gently," the word suddenly sounded too sensuous for her. She felt her cheeks roar into a blush, the memory or his fingers on her all too vivid. "And that you didn't have to take care of me the way you did just now. And I wanted to thank you for that." She finished, her voice hanging in the quickly stilling air. He just stared at her for a moment, his face calm with. something that wasn't angry or hurtful. He nodded at her then quickly turned for the helm.  
  
"We should be there soon," he called out to her.  
  
"Where?" she asked, slowly getting up, her legs still shaky, and making her way towards him.  
  
"Home." 


	3. struggling to give in

There was nothing but steaming, sweating green reaching to the horizon in every direction. Ferns, large sweltering bushes, thick, prickly tree trunks complete with heavy branches thick with large leaves. Anne angrily brushed the pulsing foliage out of her way as she desperately tried to follow her captor and caretaker. A few rays of harsh sunlight slanted their way through the branches and vines, illuminating a patch of vilely colored mushrooms here or stagnant looking puddles already begging to moss- over there. All over, the smell of decomposing life of all kinds permeated the air like incense. Anne found her nose wrinkling in disgust as she moved, her PJ's plastered to her body with a salty glue that stuck her hair to the back of her neck with a displeasingly grimy feel.  
  
She longed for a bath, for clean clothes, for air conditioning and a soft bed. She wanted the mansion back, as odd and out of place as she felt in it. She'd give anything to be back in their unnoticing gazes again, being ignored in comfort, rather than lavished with ransomed attentions in a festering swamp. She grimaced as her bare foot plopped into a warm pile of muddy ooze, leaves and twigs sticking out of the mess. She growled with dissatisfaction as she wiped her foot on a nearby tree trunk, stifling the urge to vomit at the sight and smell that now surrounded her.  
  
"It's not far now." The voice came from up ahead. Not enough ahead to let her escape back through the putrid landscape behind her, but enough to laugh quietly as she stumbled through the torturous muck of his accursed "home". She kicked a clod of dirt at the voice, wondering just how far was "not far now." It seemed as though she had been following his voice for ages. She wondered if much time had passed, days, weeks maybe. She could barely feel her legs now, her calves caked with mud, and her impeccable pink toe nails hidden now for good. Her head was beginning to spin with the assuredly toxic fumes that surrounded her. Her eyes were red and stingy, watering beyond help and blurring her vision to the point of blindness. She had never felt this wretched in her entire life, and the sheer force of it over-whelmed her. She stopped for a moment, one hand placed as gingerly as possible on a slime covered tree as she paused to calm her churning insides. She blinked, tears streaming down her face, her other hand covering her stomach protectively. She leaned over and began gagging, coughing, and she could feel her throat getting tight. Her stomach lurched, and she began coughing more violently, expelling whatever was left in her emptied stomach. She fell against the tree, her eyes stinging, her throat burning and scratching and everything about her completely miserable.  
  
"We're not but a few feet out, I promise. Just stumble a little bit further and you'll be in comfortable dwellings. Just a bit further."  
  
She could barely make out his figure, save those yellow eyes of his, but she could feel him near her. Even in the heat and stench of the corpse-like jungle, she could feel him, feel him breathing lightly on her check, cool and gently. She closed her eyes and swallowed her throat still tight and sore. She nodded, or thought she did, feeling her hair shudder around her neck. Somehow, she managed to move her legs, her knees shaking and weak. The foliage seemed to lessen, to be quite as oppressive the more she stumbled on, and soon she was met with a pleasing yellow. sand. It felt cool and grainy between hr toes, and she found that she could still wiggle them. Sunlight streamed down fully on them now, but even the rays were cooler than the shade of the land behind her. The air was clearer, lighter, and clean. She found herself smiling, then laughing, and holding her arms out to air in the glorious sun that cast an almost loving glow to her. Her steps became lighter, springier, and she found herself skipping, letting out large breaths of clean air in loud, exalted whoops.  
  
All she could hear was his laughter, his low, amused chuckles from underneath a heavily fronded palm tree. "You'd think you'd never been outside before, the way you behave."  
  
"You can't tell me that you enjoyed that. hell hole." She pointed towards the dark wood, almost drunk with fresh air.  
  
"Didn't enjoy it, didn't not enjoy it. Woods is woods to me." He shrugged, his eyes peering intently at her from the shadow. "Now come on." He nodded over his shoulder towards a large boulder, craggy and gray with small patches of moss clinging to its sides. Anne stumbled toward it, kicking puffs of sand up her shins as she moved. As she got closer, she could make out a door, a small metal door in the rock, thick bolts sticking out of the edges threateningly. She wondered how something so industrial could end up in such a place as this, then realized this was where she was being taken. The man in front of her placed his palm onto the door's surface and pressed, the metal door opening, aching metallically on its hinges.  
  
"Come on," He said, motioning for her to follow him. "We're here." And with that, he slipped inside, disappearing into the dark behind the doorway. Anne looked around. Behind her was nothing but the forest of eternal sickness, and the sand after that stretched onward in both directions with no sign of stopping, or meeting a road or water. She sighed. There was really nothing for her to do but follow. Oh, sure, she could run and try to find some sort of shelter before nightfall and forage for food, become a veritable Anne Caruso, but who was she kidding? She couldn't cook macaroni and cheese or wash her own socks, how in the world was she supposed to play survivor until her uncle figured out where she was? Because it was only a matter of time before he did, he always knew, and he always came. She might as well just play along and get a free shower and a hot meal out of it before the Calvary arrived. And oh, what a Calvary, she grinned to herself, imagining Bobby in his oh-so-fitted leather suit. Her grin turned into a smile. Perhaps playing the damsel in distress wasn't such a bad way to live.  
  
And with that, she followed dutifully, gasping as the cold air of the corridor hit her like a knife, and the door slammed behind her with and echoing clank. 


	4. the Poetic Queen

Sorry for the delay. I'm really bad at updated my stuff, as anyone who's been reading "Corma" (FINISHED!) will tell you. So, please enjoy.  
  
  
  
  
The corridor was cold, and steely, gray walls herded Anne towards the pin prick of light that glimmered in the seemingly far away end. She shivered, running her hands along her arms in a weak attempt to warm herself. Odd, jumpy shadows splayed across the dimly shimmering walls, a smoky trail of her captor's inconsistent movement before her. Somehow, she felt strangely comforted knowing that he was nearby, although it was his fault she was wherever she was and away from her bed and her uncle.   
  
The pin prick in the distance grew brighter and closer with every echoing step they took, until the light bloomed into an illuminated room. A single shaft of light from a skylight above served up enough sun to brighten the place, decorated in the same steely unfriendliness as the preceding hall. There were two halls that fed off of the room and Anne obediently, and helplessly, followed when he turned into one of the passages.   
  
The hall was similar to the one she had just left, except that this one was much shorter, lasting only a few, dark steps, until it fed into a large room. Anne stuck to the entryway, her eyes transfixed in more wonderment that fear, although the fear was also there. Before her, in another steel-plated room, sat the rec room from the mansion, verbatim. The same sofa, the same end tables, rugs, vases, fireplace, everything was made almost to exact detail.   
  
"Feels like home, no?" a smoothly mature voice floated across Anne's attention, turning it from the oak and Persian weaves before her, to a debonair and older looking gentleman sitting in a high back chair by the fire. Scott's chair.   
  
"I made sure that every last detail was right. And it is, isn't it?"  
  
Although Anne was intimidated by the steel haired stranger, she found she wasn't frightened, and managed a small nod in response to his question.   
  
"Please sit down." He said, motioning to the couch. It was more of a polite order than a request, but she only realized this when the man who had taken her all this way gently took her arm in his nimble fingers and guided her to the richly upholstered piece. She sank down into the pillows and all but swooned. After the trying ordeal of getting to this room, she was more than thankful for soft, and slightly chilly, velvets and silks.   
  
"I trust you didn't have trouble getting her here?" The distinguished one said to the yellow-eyed one, who was standing in the small patch of shadows behind the sofa, behind Anne.  
  
'No, no trouble at all," He replied in that wonderfully languid accent. Anne felt the smallest hint of a smile creep across her face as she closed her eyes and let his voice wash over her as she languished in all of the pleasures the couch could bring. "There was no one around, which was nice, and Xavier didn't seem to know I was there, which was,"  
  
"Odd." He finished for him, pressing a slender finger to his pursed lips in thought.   
  
"Um, sir?"   
  
"Yes, Toad, what is it?" Anne looked strangely at the older gentleman for saying such a thing to what was seemingly a very loyal henchmen. She was sure she'd felt the man behind her, Toad, flinch slightly when the word was said, but when he spoke, he seemed as un-phased as he usually was.   
  
"It's the girl sir. She's been out all day. I think maybe she might want to be taken to her room and given a chance for a shower."  
  
"Excellent idea Toad." He said, folding hi hands in his lap and a giving Anne a thin lipped smile that didn't fill her with the greatest of comfort. "Now, my dear Miss Boleyn. My, but your parents did have the flare for the historical, didn't they?" He chuckled. "The reason you're here is,"  
  
"I know why I'm here sir." She interrupted, shocking the man into silence. "You're holding me until my uncle pays whatever it is you're asking from him, which he will, and then I'll go home. There's really no reason to explain anything to me. I've been through this a few times before.' She said, quite confident in her skills as a hostage.  
  
"My, but aren't we the seasoned pro?" He grinned. "And, in your vast experiences, have you ever escaped?"  
  
"No need to really. Uncle Charles and the X-Men will save me." She replied, non-plused and totally unaware of the very real and unsavable danger she was in.  
  
"Well, then I'm sure you'll want to follow our young man's advice and take a brief repose. I'm sure you'll want to be refreshed when you're daring rescue occurs. Wouldn't want the young studs of the leather jumpsuit club to see you in mud stained Pajamas." He smirked again and motioned to the man behind the couch. A hand was placed on her shoulder and she felt the fingers close around her collar bone, giving her a small squeeze.   
  
"I shall see you later, Miss Boleyn. Or shall I call you Anne?"  
  
"My name's not Anne," she corrected, a touch of righteous indignation in her voice. "It's Annabelle."  
  
"My, my. A dead queen and a Poe heroine. Jackie and Felix really did have a bizarre sense of humor, did they not?"  
  
"How do you know my parent's names?" She mumbled, her face betraying her confusion.  
  
"I think you should show Miss Annabelle to her room now, Toad." He said, dismissing any further conversation with a wave of his hand.   
  
Anne took the hint and stood up, waiting for Toad to take her by the arm and lead her around the great metal labyrinth like a blind lab rat. What she got instead was a gentle, "Come on." and the smallest hint of a grin before he turned and started down yet another hall. Anne gave a final look at he who was now her captor, and found him staring into the well stoked fire.   
  
"Come on Miss Boleyn. I'm sure you'd like a nice shower right about now, yea?" Toad pleaded nonchalantly behind her. She mentally shrugged off all thoughts of the man by the fire and followed Toad.   
  
Once they were out of earshot, which was a while considering the echo-ness of the entire place, Toad whispered, "You're not being held for ransom."  
  
"What?" she whispered back.  
  
"He's not holding you for ransom. The professor wont know you're here, so there wont be anyone coming to get you."  
  
"Of course not." she said, not believing that she would go unrescued. "So, what am I here for if not ransom? Or are you high enough in the food chain around here to know?" She didn't want to be snippy with him, given his treatment of her earlier. But he was being a bit too much about her not leaving and she was not in the mood to have some guard on a power trip try to break her spirits.   
  
"He's going to experiment on you, Annie." He said quite bitingly. "He's got some plan that needs a guinea pig, and seeing as you're human, that makes you expendable. And seeing as you're Xavier's niece, that makes expending you more of a pleasure than not. So I'd watch what you say and do around here. You might find that having a friend around here to be to your advantage." He stopped suddenly and slammed open a sliding steel door well hidden in the wall. A sparse but comfy looking room appeared before Anne and she took a few awed steps inside.  
  
"This looks... extensive." She thought aloud, then turned to look at Toad. " You're really planning on keeping me here for a while?" she asked, beginning to get disturbed.  
  
"You don't listen much back at that mansion of yours, do you?" He smirked, leaning against the door jam and crossing his arms over his broad chest.   
  
"You don't understand, I always get rescued. They swoop in, hit a few guys and take me home. That's how this works."  
  
"Look kid, I'm really sorry. But this isn't going to be simple at all. If I were you, I'd take a shower and lie down for a bit. I'll go get you a change of clothes if ya want."  
  
Anne didn't move, just stood there, staring at him. Toad nodded and quietly slipped out, sliding the door closed behind him. The thick metal thunked as it shut and Anne was shocked by the loudness of the sound. her knees buckled in a startled reaction and she quickly sank to the carpeted floor. The room grew quiet as the echo calmed, and there was nothing in the vacuous silence, except the smallest sound of Anne weeping into her shaking hands. 


	5. shower scene

The water from the shower head sprayed down on Anne's head, deliciously cool and clean. She turned slowly in the stream, reveling in the feeling of the water on her naked skin. she watched as a long day's worth of grime and toil spun and trailed down the drain never to be seen again. She wondered if pain worked the same way, if there was a way to just wash it away so you would never have to see it again, and no one would be able to sense it on your flesh.   
  
She turned the water off and grabbed one of the towels off of the shelf near the shower stall, amazed at it's warmth and fluffiness. She wrapped the terry cloth sheet around her not-so-frail form and stepped out of the shower and into the steamed bathroom. She dragged her palm across the mirror, trying to clear a view for herself, and made no scruples about screaming when Toad's figure appeared behind her in the reflection. He, however, never missed a beat, and quickly rushed up behind her, covering her mouth with his hand and pinning her other arm to her side.  
  
"Shhh... " He whispered into her hair as her excited breaths calmed slowly, and the rise and fall off her chest lessened to an easy rhythm. "I'm not here to do... anything to ya, don't worry." He said quietly, and she couldn't help but notice a small blush creep across his face as he spoke. The rose of the blush didn't set well with his coloring, and it made her a bit more uncomfortable, her squirming increasing slightly. That only made his grip on her tighten, slightly, and Anne was beginning to understand just how strong the strange amphibi-man really was.   
  
"You gotta calm down. Wouldn't want him to come back here and watch you drip dry, would you?" Anne couldn't help but smile, and her captor smiled at them in the mirror as he felt her lips turn upward in his palm. Not an altogether unpleasant feeling. He lessened his grip on her, but kept a hold, not wanting her to bolt and not wanting to let go of her quite yet.   
  
"You calm?" She nodded her head and he let his hand drop from her mouth, leaving it to rest, watchful, on her shoulder. 'There now, that's better, yea?"   
  
"What are you doing in here?" She said. It took all of her strength to pull out of grip, even though she could feel it wasn't nearly as vice-like as it could be. Her hands flew immediately to her towel, holding onto it protectively and desperately, not ready to trust the stranger in her bathroom, although his touch was burned into her skin like a brand, and the quietest part of her was missing his fingers already.   
  
"I'm supposed to watch you." He said, crestfallen. She could tell that babysitting her wasn't the high point of his life, and she really couldn't blame him. She started to tell herself that he wouldn't have to watch her for long, when she remembered his words earlier in the hall.   
  
"What is he going to do to me, exactly?" She asked. She didn't believe in mincing words when it came to food, bad hair cuts, and pain.   
  
"Not too sure, really." He said, shuffling nonchalantly to the shower and leaning against the sliding glass door in a bored manner. "I'm not high enough on the food chain, I suppose."   
  
A surge of embarrassed guilt hit Anne like a tidal wave. She found it difficult not to go completely red under the look he was giving her.   
  
"I suppose it would be terribly cliche to apologize for what I said earlier, hunh?"  
  
"I've always been a sucker cliche." He said, grinning like a cat.  
  
"I'm sorry." She said through her own grin which was quickly overpowering her face and aiding a school-girl blush that was quickly dusting her cheeks. She looked away from him and into the mirror, hoping to hide herself from his eyes. "So, how long am I gonna be here?" she said, grabbing a fresh toothbrush from it's holder and wetting it under the spigot.   
  
"I really don't know. I don't think he knows either. However long it takes."  
  
"Thank you for the vagueness." She said before shoving the toothbrush into her mouth. "So, what am I supposed to call you?" She said around mouthfuls of toothpaste.  
  
"Mortimer."   
  
"But didn't he call you Toad, or something..."  
  
"My name's Mortimer." He interrupted. Anne stopped brushing for a minute and looked at him in the mirror. He wasn't looking at her now, and she couldn't make his expression out too clearly, but something in his voice warned her never to use his nickname. Something made him cling to his birth name, like clinging to... normalcy? She spit out the last of her toothpaste and put up her brush.   
  
"Um, I'm kind of hungry. Do you think maybe the lab rat could have something eat?" she grinned into the mirror. He looked up at this and the corner of his mouth tugged upward ever so slightly.  
  
"Yea, I think I might be able to swing you a bit of cheese, or something."  
  
"Well, do you think I could come with you?" she said, rather quickly, and she hoped she didn't sound as pathetic as she felt. "I just... I don't know my way around yet. And what if I get hungry in the middle of the night? I don't want to have to wander around looking for the fridge, right?"  
  
"Well, technically, that's why I'm on guard duty. I'm excellent at making late night ham sandwiches," he joked, pushing off of the shower. "But get some clothes on. Can't have you wandering around this great steal trap wearing nothing but a towel and a smile." He grinned, and Anne found herself blushing again.   
  
"Alright then, gimme two minutes." She said, pushing him out of the bathroom and into the main room.   
  
"Fine," He grinned. "There's some clean clothes on the bed. I'll just be waiting outside." He finished, and as he closed the door behind him, Anne could've sworn she saw him wink at her. 


	6. first blood

There was a fire in the common room fireplace, but Anne couldn't see why. It was still a blazing summer outside and hardly warranting a fire. But Mortimer said that chess needed a fire and good coffee. So there they were, Anne and her captor (who had become more of a companion than anyone before him), playing chess before a quietly smoking blaze and drinking coffee out of delicate little china cups and saucers. Anne never liked coffee, it always tasted like burnt toast to her, but he had been so adamant about the "only right way to play chess", that she had to give in. The coffee, actually, wasn't bad.  
  
He was winning. Most of her pieces lay lifeless by his side, her few remaining pawns circling the king, useless against his veritable army of pieces. Anne sighed and shoved her cheek onto her fist, staring bleakly at the board.   
  
"This is pointless. Why don't we just call it a game and end this."  
  
Then she noticed it, the pin prick of red on that white skin. She sat up and pulled her palm to her face for closer inspection and found, just as she suspected, a small scratch and a small trickle of blood running along the inside of her hand. She hadn't remembered scratching herself, and furrowed her brow at the cut. Or maybe it was the pain in her head that was making her forehead crinkle. "That's strange, when did I..." She closed her eyes, and the pain only grew duller and pounded harder against her skull. Her hands flew to her temples, trying to squeeze the pain away, but nothing worked. She finally let out a scream, but the vibrations only made the pain worse. She fell off the cot, she could feel the floor cold beneath her quickly fevering body, and began to whimper, her body curled up in a tight ball.   
  
The flashes started then, bright flashes of light at first, but then they became longer, showing colors, smells, images, faces. She saw the school for a flash, could smell the pine and wisteria, could feel the wind against her skin. She saw the kids walking to classes, books in their hands. She heard their footsteps, their voices, their laughter. Somewhere inside of her, in the places where this new pain couldn't get her, her heart broke at the sight of the only home she never had, the sound of Bobby's laugh, the smell of Logan's cigars, of Scott's voice telling the professor that Anne was missing... Her mind kept flashing forward, even though her conscious was screaming at her to pause, to rewind, to make sure she had seen what she thought she had. Next came a collage of black leather suits, jets and big round rooms. It all went so fast she wasn't exactly sure what she was seeing. Then it was gone.  
  
She lay shivering on the floor, her mind suddenly clear and fine, except for the buzz of images that quickly sorted themselves into her memory. Her whole body was shaking terribly and she felt numb all over. She became aware of fingers, palms, forearms pressed against her body, and she knew that they were his. He lifted her up and onto his chest. She could feel it rise and fall with every breath, could feel his heart beating.  
  
"Anne, Annie, can you hear me?" His voice echoed through her fogged-brain, and she meant to answer but she couldn't get her mouth to work. She could see him, clearly, his face aching with worrying, those yellow eyes of his boring into her face. His eyes, she couldn't stop staring at them. The yellow drew her, calmed her pounding head. Her wounded hand floated, lifted through the air seemingly of its own accord. Her fingertips grazed along the hollow of his cheek. His skin was wet, misted almost, and so soft. "Annie, Annie no..." He placed his hand over hers, trying to pry her hand away from his face. She turned her hand over and laced her fingers in between his, squeezing until her knuckles went white and she caught him wincing slightly under her grip.  
  
It was as though she was trapped behind the buzzing in her head, being carried through the halls by a worried Mortimer. She finally let go, and let her mind dull into blackness, and she enjoyed the soundest sleep she had had in four days.  
  
***  
  
"What's wrong with her, Man?" Mortimer stared down at the sleeping form of Anne, while Magneto scanned over her unconscious body with various electrodes.   
  
"She's sleeping, my good Toad. Nothing more for you to worry about." He cooed, never taking his eyes off of the girl on the medical slab. His steel eyes were twinkling with something, mischief maybe, and Toad knew better than to trust him with that look.   
  
"She was screamin', Magneto. She was in pain. I held her, I could feel it." He grew quiet with the memory of her shivering in his arms. It almost radiated off of her, her hurt, it sank into the very marrow of him. And the memory of her hand on his cheek was burned into his skin like a brand. He was sure Magneto could see it, could see that she had touched him, that she hadn't shied away like his mother had. Magneto looked at him for a moment and Mortimer was sure he knew.   
  
"Excellent. This is going better than I could've hoped for."  
  
"What are you talking about?" Mortimer asked, suddenly embarrassed, wanting nothing more than to pull her off the med table and back to her room, to watch her sleep and let his memories play over and over in his head like a tactile movie.  
  
"She has proven her usefulness, and you have as well." He replied, his grin growing more and more malicious. "Perhaps we should wait until she wakes, and then we'll all have a friendly little chat." He said, lifting the girl up in his arms and then passing her off to Mortimer, who took her, pulling her up into his chest, letting her limp head rest on his shoulder.  
  
"What are you going to do to her?" He asked. Magneto simply smiled and glided out of the lab, leaving Toad to follow, clutching Anne to him like a lost child with a teddy bear. 


	7. Not while I'm around

A/N: Sorry this is so ridiculously late. I have no good excuses; all I have is a new chapter. Hopefully my semi-dedicated fans and those who aren't so mad at me will read it and enjoy…

"Welcome back to the world of the living." A cold voice droned. "I trust you slept well."

Anne's eyes fluttered open and she suddenly realised she was cold. A shiver ran down her spine and goose bumps spread through her limps like a snowdrift. She curled up into a ball, pulling her knees tightly into her chest. That's when she realised she was in bed. The cool of the sheets froze her anew as she moved and she could hear the hospital-clean linens crinkle as she moved about in them. She was somewhere else, somewhere other than her room- no, not her room she sharply reminded herself. Her room was in the mansion right next to Kitty and Rogue's, this wasn't her home. But this wasn't her room either. The walls were impeccably white, so much so that it almost hurt her eyes. And right in front of her, sitting in a cold, white chair, was Erik.

There was a rustle and Anne felt a heavy warmth spreading up from her toes. She looked back and saw Mortimer pulling a blanket up over her, dropping it at her shoulders and making sure the edges were tucked about her snugly; he never looked at her.

"What happened?" She said, her voice sounding heavy and fogging, as though she were talking through a dream.

"You had a little bit of an accident. Nothing unexpected, but definitely ahead of schedule. How's your head?"

She groaned in response and fell back on the pillow, laying her wrist across her forehead. "It feels like a circus."

"It'll pass in time. This was the first time anything like this has happened, am I correct?"

She nodded and looked over at Mortimer from behind her wrist. He was watching Erik with a stoic look on his face. A soldier waiting to take orders, she thought. Suddenly he looked down at her, and she froze, her breath catching in her throat. His expression didn't change, but he gave her a small wink and then looked back to Erik.

"Anne, we need to have a little chat about… your situation. Do you think you'll be able to focus, or shall I send Toad out?"

Anne swallowed, suddenly feeling like she was back in school, caught passing notes. She pulled herself up on her elbows and leaned against the pillow, nodding sheepishly and looking squarely at Erik, making sure her eyes didn't even flicker towards Mortimer.

"Anne," He began slowly, though there was a glimmer of something like excitement in his greying eyes that unnerved her. " Do you know what came before science? Religion. Each is way to explain what is around us, why the rain falls, why the wind blows. Science knows that the plants grow because of a complicated process, photosynthesis and the like. Religion told us it was because god willed it so. Then how were we to interpret God?"

"Priests." She said before she even thought that perhaps this was a rant he'd prefer to make by himself. But to her surprise he smiled warmly at her and continued. "Yes. Priests are the scientists of old. Religion came, it didn't answer the questions to everyone's satisfaction, and then came science. And now, come us." He said, motioning towards Mortimer. Anne dared a look over at him now, but he was looking away, his fingers absently pulling at a piece of fuzz on the blanket. His cheeks were paler than usual, and she could tell he was upset.

"However, every cycle repeats itself. And for some reason, it has chosen to start again just now. With you."

"With me? What are you talking about?"

"You're the next link." He said smiling.

Anne laughed. She couldn't help it. This was ridiculous. All of a sudden she was sure this was all some sort of a joke her Uncle was playing on her- her uncle. The thought sent a jab of pain through her chest. She missed him, missed all of them. Why would he send her away and do this to her? No, this wasn't of her uncle's making, perhaps one of the students. Her chest tightened again as she remembered that none of the students cared about her enough to want to hurt her like this. No, this must be real- but was it true?

"I'm the next link to what?"

"Evolution."

"This is retarded."

"What did you see last night?"

She paused. "How do you know about that?"

He smiled. "We are the outcasts of science. You are the outcast of religion. We are the closest thing to science in action that mankind has seen in eons. You are the gods working their will."

"This is stupid. There's no such thing as god."

"There was no such thing as an atom a thousand years ago. Who are we to argue what is and what isn't. The truth is, we all have gifts. You have the sight that none of us have, my young friend. That is what you saw, wasn't it?" She was silent. Erik's smile widened and she stood, smoothing the front of his black slacks with smooth, elegant hands. I think I'll just let you rest then. I'm sure this is a lot to have to take in on one day. Toad," He shot the pale man to her side a look, and he sat up immediately directing his attention to the greying, older gentleman across the bed from him. "Keep an eye on her. Let me know if anything happens." Toad nodded and Erik, giving her a final look, swept out of the lab, the doors softly clicking close behind him.

Anne collapsed onto the pillow, staring at the ceiling wide-eyed. "This isn't real." She breathed quietly, her lips barely moving. Mortimer smoothed the blankets about her. Anne slid her hand out from under the covers and placed it over Mortimer's, stopping his motions. He was shocked for a moment, then wrapped his fingers around hers, giving her hand a small squeeze.

"It's not true. I'm not different." She said, her voice quiet and choking on an unexpected sob. Her throat was tight and suddenly she was sucking down breaths. "I'm not different," She repeated, "I've never been. The only thing special about me is that I'm not the special one. Uncle Charles knew that. He did. It was only pity that made him bring me in. He's not even my real Uncle, you know. He just loved my parents so much. That's the only reason anyone puts up with me, because my parents were so amazing. I'm nothing."

It finally came out. She pulled her hand from Mortimer's to cover her loudly sobbing face. She hadn't cried in a long time and never like this. Immediately all the muscles in her face hurt and her temples were throbbing so hard she thought they might explode, but she couldn't stop. She was tired; she tried to convince herself, that's all this was. But she knew better. This had been waiting, lying dormant for years while she pattered about the mansion with the other kids and the teachers and Uncle Charles trying to fit in, trying to scrape by at least while she was barely a bleep on their radar screens. A freak among freaks, and how desperately she wanted to change. She'd prayed, wished, hoped since she was a little girl that she'd turn out like her parents or like the people that had surrounded her since birth. If only what Erik said was true.

"Demons'll charm you with a smile for a while, but in time," She barely noticed it at first, him singing. But she noticed his voice before she noticed that he had gotten into bed next to her and was cradling her only his chest while he sang- he was singing to her. "Nothing's gonna harm you, not while I'm around."

"You're voice it sounds…" She managed quietly, her lips gummy from all the build up sob-spit.

"Like a toad?" He offered. There was a small pause and then the two of them started shaking with laughter. She could feel his rumbling in his chest like a drum and it sent shivers through her, making her trill, nervous laugh die down into a post-cry headache.

"Ow…"

"Look, lie down, get some rest, yea?" He said, easing her off of his arm and back onto the pillow.

"Would you stay until I fall asleep?" She had no idea why she said that. It flew out and she was utterly shocked she'd let it, let alone thought it. No one ever watched her sleep. It was an asinine, childish idea. But when he said, "Yes." She smiled and finally relaxed, her head dropping onto the pillow… or was it his arm?


End file.
